The Lighthouse
by Aspen Blue
Summary: Finnick Odair learned one lesson from the Hunger Games: Victory is only the first step of the journey. But hope won't abandon Finnick in his darkest hours, and as Panem fractures, he'll find his meaning to fight on in the unlikeliest of places. This is the story of Panem's most conflicted victor, a man who had to brave the the fog to find the light he always needed. *Hiatus*
1. Dreams in the Fog

There is a lighthouse at the westernmost end of the bay.

Every day in District 4 starts the same. The sun creeps over the mountains to the east as the fog rolls in from the western sea, blanketing the hilly, rocky district in a blanket so think and dense that one couldn't be blamed for thinking the ocean had risen forth to conquer the land. It's a nightmare for the trawlers and fishing skiffs that pace the open waters every day. Every now and then a ship will collide with another in the fog, a slip of the hand or miscalculation by an inexperienced captain that takes two dozen lives to the bottom.

It'd be much worse save for the lighthouse. Children tire of the bright yellow beam that lights up the fog like a second sun. The baritone drone of the tower's horn sounds as if it could have come from one of the many monsters that call the deep home.

But even in the darkest mornings, when the sun refuses to rise and the fog threatens to choke the district in its grip, the lighthouse is there – chanting, shining, saving.

Many years ago, I knew nothing but that darkness myself. Circumstance, fate, and misfortune had swelled into a giant wave that had drowned me in the shadows of others' whims. The Hunger Games. Snow's lust for power. The rich and the powerful who sought to frolic with things they didn't understand or value. These things preyed upon me like I was a minnow caught in an octopus's lair.

Yet there was a lighthouse in the midnight hour. It took me years of venturing down dead-end paths and sailing roiling seas to find it, but I did, even in the fog. I heard it, I saw it, and when I finally reached its doors, I never stepped away.

I'm still there today.

-FO

* * *

Venus had run out of road.

I'd run down my last challenger in the arena. She'd gotten the jump at me back at the stone ruins near the rocky hills a hundred meters downhill of the Cornucopia. It didn't matter. It was her choice of weapon that damned Venus: She'd picked a short sword to square off against my trident and net, and her lack of reach had nearly killed her.

Maybe it had. The drops of blood on the dusty ground of this barren arena told me that she was clinging on to fading hope.

"Let's finish it, Vee," I said under my breath, panting as I choked out the words. I might have had the upper hand, but the long chase had winded me.

The girl from District 1 had made short work of nearly a half-dozen tributes from the outlying districts since the gong rang at the Cornucopia, but the breakup of our alliance had sent her scurrying for cover. When Ares and I had drawn weapons and had it out, she'd run for higher ground, determined to face the winner of our fight only when he'd exhausted himself in combat.

That plan wasn't working too well.

I planted my hand on a boulder and vaulted the rock. The arena's river snaked through the dust and dirt fifty meters ahead of me. A huddled yellow mound sidled up to the riverbank – Venus, who by now must have figured out that she didn't have the strength to ford the river with a stab wound to her shoulder. Two centimeters lower and I would have ended this a half-kilometer ago.

"Vee!" I shouted. "Get up."

I hoisted my trident and strolled down towards the riverbank. I didn't need to rush. Nature would take care of this if I didn't. Venus fell onto all fours, gazing up at me with wide hazel eyes and scurrying like a crab towards the water. Blood matted her long blonde hair and golden jacket.

She picked up her sword from the ground and said, "Stay back, Finnick! Go away."

"Can't do that," I said.

"I won't let you kill me!"

"I already did. I'll do you a favor and make it a lot faster. Less pain. C'mon."

She was a fighter, and I didn't expect her to roll over and let me skewer her like a rat. Venus clambered onto shaky legs and dragged her sword up to her waist. Her chest heaved with exhaustion.

The girl shook her head and said, "I'm gonna live. You don't deserve it."

"Not happening, Vee."

"Fuck you, Finn! You murdered Bacchus when he had his back turned!"

"You woulda done the same. That girl from 9? You think she'd root for you if you hadn't spilled her guts?"

I spun the trident in my hand, raised an eyebrow, and added, "We both know this has to end. So if you want it on your terms, come at me."

Venus scowled, cupped her left hand over her shoulder wound while clutching her sword in her right, and charged at me with the last burst of energy she had left. I didn't hesitate. I kicked a cloud of dust in her eyes as soon as she closed. She coughed and stumbled back, swiping at the dust with her blade.

I wouldn't give her a chance to fight. As she swatted at her eye to dig the dirt out, I circled to her left and stabbed.

The girl shrieked. My weapon dug into her armpit and I drove my arm forward, cutting off her howl of pain as I pierced her heart and released a geyser of blood. There was no rule in the Hunger Games about fighting fair.

That was it. I pitched my net to the side and dropped my trident. The hovercraft would be there any second as Claudius Templesmith's voice boomed over the windy plains of the stone desert. _Finnick Odair, victor of the 65__th__ Hunger Games_. I should have felt remorse for my carnage in the arena, but that title had a ring to it. Thanks for the trident, sponsors. In the back of my mind, I'd worried in the first few days of the Games. I'd worried over the state of the alliance with the kids from District 1 and District 2, along with my partner. I'd worried about an unknown from the outlying districts killing us all. I'd worried about doing something stupid that would cost me everything, and I'd worried about doing something smart – something that achieved victory – that would cost me everything down the road.

Yet once I'd gotten my hand on this weapon and gone to work, all the worries evaporated. I felt powerful. I felt strong. I was in control – exactly how a victor should be. The Games had flooded my veins, and now I was ready to step atop the podium as champion.

But when I turned around to embrace victory, I met only a pair of sad gray eyes and billowing, curly brown hair. A blood-soaked hand reached out to me from under the ripped sleeve of a jacket in tatters.

She spoke, but her lips didn't move when the words bounced around the inside of my head. It was as if I'd forgotten how her lips worked.

"I can't wake up with you, Finnick," she said. "But I can't leave here, either."

_Thump, thump, thump._

The sound of knocking on a door boomed over the arena as a gale welled up on the wasteland flats. The girl blew away in the wind as the mountains crumbled and the river flash boiled. The gale tore through the arena, turning everything into nothing until only I was left – and then even that had escaped me.

_Thump, thump, thump!_

"Gah!"

My eyes opened with a snap. Dust hung in the air, suspended against the backdrop of the omnipresent fog outside my bedroom window. A giant beast roared in the distance. The foghorn wouldn't let me slip back into the darkness of my mind.

I reached over to my end table beside my bed and picked up a knife. Once I'd used this sharp little blade to gut fish, but now I only wanted to cut something far worse out of my dreams.

"Get outta there," I said, raising the blade to my head and pressing the tip against my temple until it hurt. "Get out."

One would have thought that five months would have been enough to purge the memories, but one would've been wrong. Now I didn't know if they'd ever leave me in peace.

_Finnick Odair, victor_. It still had a ring to it, but it was the hollow kind.

_Thump, thump, thump_.

Someone was knocking on my door. Who was barging into the Victor's Village at way-too-early o'clock? Mags was probably up, but she knew well enough to leave me alone, and I doubt any of the other victors would bother me until the Victory Tour in a week.

I set the knife back down on my table and rolled off my bed. The air was chilly in my room. Winter never approached freezing in District 4 with the winds blowing off of the bay, but it never really warmed up here, either. Even in the hottest part of summer the temperatures never approached unbearable levels.

_Thump, thump, th-_

I yanked open my door and shouted, "Gimme a damn second!"

Hopefully that wasn't my mother. Then again, if she was knocking on my door at this hour, she deserved my vitriol.

As I walked over to my closet to put on some pants, I stubbed my toe on another table and swore. The damn house had too much stuff. My father worked nets on a trawler, and I'd gotten used to our modest house as a kid. Now I was a fifteen year-old with an entire two-story building full of crap I didn't need to call my own. Superb.

I rubbed my foot and glanced at the table. A white, shiny rope lying on it caught my eye. Just a little thing, really – I'd gotten lost in thought for an hour the previous night, knotting and untying the rope in my hand over and over again through sheer muscle memory. I hadn't even noticed I'd been doing it until I'd gone to bed. Dumb thing to do.

Come to think of it, that would at least keep my knot-tying skills sharp in case the Capitol ever made me go back to work on a boat. Admittedly, it had felt…familiar, as well, having something I knew in my hands as I thought. I'd have to keep that thing around.

Not now, however. Now I needed to tell some unwelcome guest to let me sleep at this hour.

I yanked on the first pair of pants I found and pulled on a shirt, leaving it unbuttoned as the fabric flapped after me while I tromped down my house's creaky wooden stairs. This victor's life wasn't conducive to being responsible with getting dressed, I suppose. Mumbling under my breath about privacy, I ran a hand through my oily hair, shoved a chair out of my way in my dining room, and pulled open the front door.

"Hey. You okay?"

Whoops. A thin girl in an ill-fitting white shirt stood out on my porch, wringing her hands together and glancing up at me with cautious blue eyes. Her short black hair was a mess, but it probably looked better than mine. Come to think of it, Brook Cassidy looked pretty good all over, and her bright face stood out like a star against the fog that covered the street.

I waved a hand in the air at nothing and ran my fingers through my hair. "Yeah, I'm just uh…y'know, practicing my vocal range. To sound intimidating in case someone's trying to hurry me up on the Tour, right?"

Brook narrowed one of her pencil-thin eyebrows and leaned against the porch wall. "Maybe you should button up your shirt," she said, her eyes running over my chest.

"I could just take these pants off instead."

"I already take care of my brother. I don't need to see some other boy's privates," she said, rolling her eyes.

Ah, it was too early for witticisms. I shoved my hands in my pockets and moved aside to let her in. Brook and I had been friends for years since we'd met in school when I was only eight and she was nine. It'd been a lucky day for me, I guess. From her biting jokes to her dedication in caring for her older brother after he'd been paralyzed from the waist down in a boating accident, Brook had only grown more beautiful the more I'd known her – on the inside and outside. Even after I'd gone to train in the Victor Institute, I'd made sure to keep up with her on a regular basis.

"Finnick? You sure you're okay?"

I blinked and stepped back. She was staring at me, her expression concerned and her mouth ajar.

"Well I'm hungry as hell, but besides that –"

"You're bleeding."

"What?"

"Your head."

I reached up to my temple and felt something wet. When I pulled it away, a stripe of blood stained my fingers.

"It's uh…" I said, stalling for a moment to think. "Wrestling. I gotta diversify my skills, after all."

"You were wrestling with yourself?"

"Yeah. Bet you've never heard of better practice."

Brook clenched her jaw and sat down on one of the chairs in my kitchen. "Finnick," she said, raising her palm to her forehead and shutting her eyes. "Look. People say they've seen you just running around the edge of the district and the beach. I barely see you. I don't even see you in the marketplace or down by the docks. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"C'mon, it's way too early for that kinda talk."

"It's eleven."

Guess it wasn't early. I really needed to get my sleep cycle back on track. In all seriousness, I was hiding from her. I'd always tried to look tough and masculine around Brook, and I didn't want to dump my mind's baggage on her if I could help it.

I sat down in a chair across from her, picking up a half-empty glass of water from the night before and draining it in one swig. "You're not gonna get it, Brook," I said, staring down at the glass as I swished around the few drops of water left in it.

She leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table. "It's not like I didn't watch the Games. I saw everything. We all did. I'm not gonna make fun of you or anything, you're Finnick Odair. You won. And you're my friend."

I stood up and set the glass down on the table. Hell.

"I don't, uh," I mumbled, walking around into my kitchen and leaning against the counter. "I got too much time to think on my hands. I need to do stuff, but I got nothin' to do."

She looked as if she was waiting for more, so I went on: "You know when you dwell on something a lot and you start to overanalyze everything you could do or did do? It's like that."

Brook pursed her lips and frowned. "You don't have to feel guilty for the arena," she said. "I mean, you got picked to volunteer because people believed in what you could do, and you proved them right. Don't you even think that you shouldn't have won. Screw that thought."

"It sure isn't that," I scoffed, gripping the counter with my hands behind my back. "Those guys I teamed up with? They were dicks. Ares was as dumb as a rock. Bacchus was a sadistic little twerp. I don't care that I offed them. I'd do that again in a second if I was back there. Probably did the world a favor. But, it's just…"

"The girl from 7?"

"God, we should've never teamed up with her," I said, looking off into dead space as I spoke. Sad gray eyes and curly brown hair floated through my head. "Holly knew her stuff, though, but man, she's just hanging around up in there. Won't go away, much as I try."

"I know you were…friends…with her," Brook said, playing with her thumb and looking down at the table. "You made her time in the arena better. She could've just been a statistic."

"Yeah, now she is. And the even worse truth? Better her than me. I feel dirty saying that, but it's the truth."

"Finnick, don't start with this stuff. I'd have been crushed if she'd won over you."

I glanced at her. "You would, huh?"

She looked away, still wrapping her hands over one another.

"It's just stupid," I said. "Now I wish I hadn't stuck her, but then? When everything was going to hell? It felt right. Heck, it felt _good_. I was in control of everything."

"Look, let's just stop. I didn't mean to pry. Let me get you out of this house –"

"No, it feels good to talk now," I said with a wispy laugh. "Y'know, she coulda whacked me if she wanted to. She was amazing with that axe, but she wouldn't do it. She thought I really cared about her, and for a few days, I did. Then I remembered what I was doing, and yoink, she's dead, I win. Easy-peasy."

"Finnick, stop. Please."

"Just won't get out of there," I said, ignoring Brook and tapping my forehead. "I got all this time on my hands to dwell, and whole helluva lot of good it does me."

I stared around the kitchen. All this wood paneling, all this newfound wealth – was it really worth it? I'd gained victory in a fight to the death, but I'd stepped right into another fight with my own mind.

Brook was right. I did need to get out more.

"You know what?" I said. "Victory Tour's in two weeks, and I need to get this crap outta my head before then. Let's get outta here. Even for a day."

She nodded, but Brook wouldn't look my way. When she got up from her chair, her right hand was clenched in a fist.

The foghorn boomed.

* * *

_**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I've wanted to do a "complete telling" so to speak of Finnick's life after his Hunger Games victory, so here goes – taking a break from my OC stories for the moment. Some details have been changed and/or adjusted from the original Hunger Games material for thematic and/or plot purposes. But never fear, plenty of Odesta, haha. Down the road a bit.**_

_**I always love to hear feedback, so if you have comments, concerns, critiques, suggestions, etc., let me know! **_

_**Rated T for coarse language, graphic violence, mature themes and references, and potentially unsettling imagery. The Hunger Games, Finnick, Annie, District 4, Mags, Katniss, Peeta, and all adapted fictional materials from the Hunger Game series within this story are the property of Suzanne Collins. **_


	2. The Master

_**A/N: Thanks for the review and kind words, jess452! Comments are always welcome, and I love to hear what you all are thinking!**_

* * *

Brook tried her best to help me over the next two weeks. My mother, my father, and my seventeen year-old sister Ariadne all tried to help me escape my shell. Yet despite their efforts, I found my best refuge alone.

A rock formation jutted out from the bay's southernmost end like a giant stepping out of the sea. Mariners and fishermen avoided the area for the deceptive shallows that hid rocky bottoms, many of which could strip the bottoms right off of a ship's hull. Children explored the rocks as well on the hunt for shellfish or adventure. After a few hours, I'd found a cave in the rocks deep in the formation. Only a submerged sea tunnel a dozen meters long and an oculus cut into the roof by the elements exposed the cave to the outdoors. It was an intimate place for someone looking to lose themselves in their thoughts – someone like me.

I wouldn't be bothered in there. One of the children exploring the rocks one day, a bushy-haired teen only one or two years younger than me named Annie, had shown it to me. Unfortunately, she hadn't sounded like she wanted much to do with District 4's latest victor.

"See?" Annie had said as I'd surfaced from the sea tunnel and looked around the cave. "No one here. Just rocks."

I nodded. The tide had washed up seaweed and tiny fish bones, but besides that, we were alone. "How'd you find this place?"

"Exploring," she'd said.

At that moment I'd remembered that I'd seen Annie Cresta before. She trained at the Victor Institute, and while I'd never talked to her before, I'd seen her in agility drills and sprinting alongside and ahead of the other girls her age. She was quick, she was skilled, and I had no doubt she'd be in contention to volunteer for the Games one day.

The golden afternoon sunlight shining in through the oculus made me realize she was quite pretty, as well. Her black bathing suit and the water dripping off of her tan skin sure didn't hurt.

"You just, uh," I said, stumbling over my words. "You just come here?"

"Alone," she said, folding her arms and slipping a foot back into the water. "Have fun doing whatever you're doing, Finnick Odair."

Just like that she'd disappeared back into the water. Ah well. I had a hunch I'd see her again.

The day before the Victory Tour, I crouched alongside the sea tunnel's entrance and pitched a fish bone into the water. Little ripples fanned out and splashed against my toes. It was simple in the cave. Nobody was there to ask how I was feeling. Nobody was there to make me trot down to the docks or the marketplace to socialize. No bothers, no distractions. Just me, my thoughts, and a thousand memories to dwell upon.

I pulled the rope I'd been knotting out of the pocket of my bathing suit. Without thinking, I tore out the knots in my hands, working it over and over between my fingers as I stared out into rocky nothingness.

Mags had stopped by that morning. She was a victor from eons ago, a gray-haired, wrinkle-skinned woman in her seventies who still could get around like someone thirty years younger. She'd mentored me through the Games, but as much as I respected her and credited her for keeping me alive in the arena – heck, she was likely the main force behind that, given that she'd collected enough sponsor gifts to send me a freaking trident by air mail – I didn't want to see her that morning. I'd see enough of her and everyone else involved with the Games over the next two weeks.

"Finnick?" she'd said as she'd pushed open my front door. "Your sister was asking about you again."

I groaned and leaned my face into my arms and onto my breakfast plate. "Just ignore her next time."

"She means well," she said. "Don't lean into your breakfast."

"Edible pillow," I said, pulling my nose back from a heap of untouched scrambled eggs. "It's good."

Mags stepped over and pulled the plate away from my face. Mopping up my nose with a paper towel, she said, "You can't sit here and rot all day. I won't let you do that."

"Yeah? What's the harm?" I grunted.

"A lot of it," she said, taking a seat across from me and crossing her arms over her chest. "You're still young. I don't want you to become one of those victors who withers away."

"Doesn't sound so bad."

"You can find an example on this road. The hardest part of being a victor is staying on the path. Winning only starts you on it."

I leaned back and sniffed. Damn her insight. She wasn't kidding about one victor in District 4 who hadn't adapted well to life after the Hunger Games, though. I'd known all about him long before I'd set foot in the arena.

The water rippled again as I stared off into space. Holly from District 7 plagued my thoughts. It'd been Ares's idea to bring her into our alliance: The boy from District 2 had seen her at work with those axes, and she'd impressed the rest of us by the second day of training. I'd viewed her as little more than a good extra weapon until we'd set foot in the arena. Then, when everything was at stake, the smallest of relationships had meant the world to me.

I wouldn't be able to get her out of my head on the Victory Tour. When I set foot in District 7, every little emotion roiling in my mind would come to the surface.

My thoughts took me away from the cave and turned this isolated, lonely place into a mirror of my mind. The cave walls faded away, and I saw the barren, rocky wasteland of the arena again. Holly leaned against me on that first night as we kept watch at the Cornucopia. The others had fallen asleep an hour ago, and the stars twinkled in the black sky.

"Think those are the real stars?" she'd said, pointing out a bright one a hand's distance away from the crescent moon. "We see that constellation in the summer in District 7. It's the eagle – and that star there's Altair."

"Altair?" I said, only half-interested in her Hunger Games astronomy lesson. "Catchy name. They teach you that in school in District 7?"

"It's my brother's name, too," Holly said. The stars shined in her gray eyes. Something about the way she gazed up at the ribbon of the Milky Way, her face so set on remembering what she'd learned from her home, struck me as beautiful in the darkness. "You can't see that star much back home. We're too far north in District 7 to see it except in the summer."

"I guess they the gamesmakers are trying to be authentic," I said.

She glanced up at me and smiled.

"It all looks real in your head, doesn't it?"

I snapped back to reality. Water dripped off of a tall, well-built man crouched in front of me in the sea cave. His hands rested on his feet and his neck hunched forward, the posture making him look like some sort of lurking predator before me in the tight space. The man's long, wet black hair clung to his neck and shoulders. Apart from a thin leather girdle around his waist that just covered up what I didn't want to see, he was naked.

"Have I ever told you about navel-gazing?" the man said, cocking his head to the left and smiling. "It's completely useless, but _damn!_ It feels good! It's like killing, or…or the Hunger Games! Aye, it feels _good!_"

I scurried back to the edge of the cave and braced myself on all fours. This was the last person I wanted to see in here – or anywhere. He wasn't just some stranger. He wasn't much different from me, really. He was the victor of the 56th Hunger Games, Mako Witcher.

Everyone in District 4 knew about what he'd become.

"The hell did you find me?" I said.

Mako lurched forwards. He leaned his neck forward and leered at me like a serpent. "Funny thing, memories," he said, closing his left eye yet never breaking his stare. "They're evolutionary. You know what that word means? Nature likes 'em in us. It just loves it when we dwell – but then we dwell, and we dwell, and we dwell! When you got time in your hands, nothing's worse than your own little prison up in your head!"

I wasn't going to listen to this lunatic. "Answer the damn question," I said, narrowing my eyes and balling my fists.

"Oh, you think I'm here to fight?" Mako laughed and sat down. "Just here to talk to our esteemed newest victor. Philosophize, maybe. It's an exclusive circle we're in."

He pulled a sharp, jagged rock from his girdle and waved it in the air. "Y'see, I saw you the other day around here. Thought I'd follow you. Saw you ask what's her name – Annie, that was it! – some question or another, but I wagered you were looking for some place to avoid Mags and Rio and all those other schmucks in the Village. So, today I came up here, found Annie fishing – weird thing for a trainee to do, by the way – and I pressed this little, tiny rock to her throat."

Mako thrust the rock in front of him for effect and said, "And I asked her kindly where you were! I'm a gentleman. I couldn't pass up talking to you alone without Mags or everyone else beating a path to your door. What's your friend's name? Brook? Maybe I'll ask her a few questions too."

"Stay away from her, you fuck," I growled.

"Oh, we have a winner!" he said with a smile.

Mako leaned back on his hands and looked up at the oculus. "I'm not here to threaten you, Finnick. You're new, and I like new toys. I've had enough of Rio, after all. The guy thinks because he mentors me, because he wins in '49, he gets to call all the shots for me. 'Mako, go to the Capitol. Mako, look presentable. Mako, train new kids.' Nope, I say. At least you got Mags, she'll die soon –"

"Get the hell out of here."

"Not yet. Not until I show you that I'm the sane one around here. Maybe the only one out of all us victors."

Mako hunched forward again and narrowed his eyes. "You got an inkling of what you're doing on your Tour, Finn?"

"Don't call me that."

"Brook calls you that. Do you like her?"

"Are you spying on me?"

"Wouldn't be very good if I wasn't. But I answered you, so you answer me."

My chest tightened. Mags and Rio, the other mentor who had accompanied me to the Capitol during the Games, had warned me after we'd arrived back home about this man. I didn't trust a word he said, and his fidgeting and rapid blinking didn't ease my tension. Maybe I was a victor, but so was he – and given the size of his shoulder muscles, I wagered he was in as good, if not better, shape than he'd been in when he'd won five and a half years ago.

"Mags told me plenty," I said.

"Sure. Sure she did," Mako said, standing up and walking over to the side of the cave. He leaned against it, folded his arms, and stared up at the oculus. "You think President Snow's a good guy, Finnick?"

I froze. This didn't bode well. "Doesn't matter what I think."

"Sure it does. Fuck that guy," Mako said without missing a beat. "What, you think he's listening in? The Capitol's not omniscient. They use drones to spy on the districts, but no drone's hearing us outside of that hole in the roof. All the sound reverberates inside here, y'know?"

He crouched down again and leaned forward. "So let's talk like two men, rather than two sheep pissing ourselves over what someone's going to think of us. You know what Snow told me when I stopped into the Capitol during my Tour? He wanted me to spy on District 4 for him. He said, and I quote, 'Mako, you're a hardy, smart boy. You understand how others think, and I think you know that I can make life difficult for you.' That was how he started. 'I can make life difficult for you.' What a guy, huh?"

"Y'see," Mako said, pointing to a long scar that ran down the side of his face from forehead to chin. "I'm not a human sculpture like you. The kids point and laugh, say that I'm ugly! And they're right! So Snow wasn't so interested in what I looked like, but what I could do for him. Too bad I told him to go screw himself. He could make my life difficult, huh? Well, he hasn't done so yet, because there's not much you can do to a guy who popped out of an orphanage into a training center and doesn't quite understand what a friend is. I think dying would be a bit boring, but he's too much of a coward to send a Peacekeeper to kill me. So I sit, waiting for Snow to make my life difficult."

Mako pointed a finger at me and smiled. "But you…he can make life difficult for you. What's sissy's name? Bummer if he killed her. Or Mommy and Daddy. They're just fishermen, right? No problem. Little mishap at sea, yikes. Boats just aren't made up to snuff these days. Miss Brook? Ah, horrible workplace hazards, the things they can do to a person's spine! What a shame it'll be seeing her in a casket –"

"Look," I cut him off, raising my hands in the air. "I get it, the Capitol's going to want something from me. What's your point."

"My point is," Mako said. "Bet Mags hasn't told you any of that – or the depths of depravity Snow will go to in getting what he wants. Look at you. You're a physical specimen, my friend."

"We're not friends."

"Oh, colloquialisms. I bet Snow himself is attracted to you. Heck, I'm salivating right here across this cave. How many empty-headed Capitol idiots, you think, are willing to shell out huge sums to get a little piece of Finnick Odair, you think?"

Mags had warned me about Mako's insanity, but she hadn't warned me about the real danger lurking under his wild green eyes: The man _knew_ things, things that couldn't hurt an outlier like him but would be deadly to someone like me.

I inhaled, let my breath out, closed my eyes, and said, "You're saying…"

"I'm saying," Mako said. He leaned forward, his eyes dancing around his sockets. "You have a few options when Snow decides to sell you to the highest bidder. You can tell yourself it won't happen, but I think you're smarter than that. I think you get that this ride doesn't have a happy ending."

Mako grinned and picked at his teeth. "You can say no, like me. Only unlike me, you have things to lose. I don't think you're _that_ smart, so let's count that one out. You can do like every other victor since time eternal and lay down and take it. That's just…so demeaning, though. I hear that victor from last year, Cashmere, got pushed all around the Capitol circles while you were fighting in the arena."

"Who'd you hear that from?" I said, only half-listening. The reality of what he was saying was sinking in, and my breath tightened in my throat. _Pushed around? Sold to the highest bidder? _Mags had clued me in with subtleties. The hardest part really was to come, then. I couldn't fight the President and the Capitol. I could fight in the arena, kill other kids even, but this…this was something way beyond me. This was something horrific beyond measure.

"I've been back to the Capitol since my Tour. Heard that from the one victor who keeps his ear to the ground," Mako said. "One Haymitch Abernathy from District 12, a man who's so used to losing in the Games by now that I don't think he even cares about them anymore. No, no there's a lot more to be learned from the Capitol itself."

Mako flexed his fingers and looked right in my eyes. "The Capitol's built on a foundation of secrets, Finnick. If you're smart, and you're willing to sacrifice a little in order to preserve what you love while gaining even more, you'll learn to understand every facet of those secrets. Everybody in the Capitol has something to hide, and give them enough alcohol…or other things…and they'll spill the beans."

Mako jabbed his finger at my foot and smiled. "You're in for something much more horrifying than you knew in the arena, but there's power in that, too. Don't disappoint me. You've got potential, and I'd hate to see you waste it. Play along with whatever Snow tells you to do. Let him trade you like a slave, and you'll become his master. Snow doesn't know how many secrets run under his nose every day. Information is the king of Panem."

He stepped back into the water as if to go, but turned towards me and said, "Embrace the Capitol, Finnick. It's full of disgusting people, but give them what they want and you can become their master."

"Wait," I said. "Even if you're not screwing with me…why tell me?"

He laughed. "Because the Capitol's been an immovable object for more than sixty years. So why don't you and I sow the seeds of an unstoppable force?"


	3. Guilt

I don't remember much of my Victory Tour that year. Between my apprehension at Mako's words to the growing uncertainty in my gut upon returning to the Capitol, reading scripted speeches in front of the other districts didn't daunt me. Districts 11, 9, 5 – they all passed by in a flash of faceless mobs and vivid lands rushing past the train windows. As my personal mentor, Mags joined me as the lone victor on the Tour. Her handling of the journey, from the way she shielded me from cameras to the way she took questions and introduced me to others, went a long way in smoothing out the trip.

One district stands out, however.

It should. I'd killed its girl without a moment's hesitation, and now she walked through my mind at night. District 7 brought up a whole new feeling in my stomach when I stepped off of the train in the frozen north: Guilt.

Trees fifty meters high loomed like giants over District 7's train station. Flurries fluttered down from the ashen sky. The air smelled of pine and earth as I stepped off the train car and followed Mags onto the splintering wooden planks of the station.

The mayor, adorned in a black suit and a wearing a tight-fitting brown hat that failed to cover his mane of red hair, greeted Mags and I. My Capitol escort, a towering man named Cicero whose style of dressing in simple grays and blues and no-nonsense demeanor made him stand out in jarring fashion from the typical Capitol fare, stepped forward immediately to chat. It was the man next to him, a plain-faced, brown-haired, bearded man who wore a large black overcoat and stooped as he walked, who took my hand.

"Finnick?" the man said, his brown eyes brightening as he slapped me on the shoulder. "Good to see someone join our little club who isn't gloating or half-dead."

"Didn't know I was in a club," I said.

He laughed, a rumble that came from deep within his barrel chest. "Sure y'are. Name's Blight. Won the Games a long time ago. They call us all victors, so hey, we're an exclusive club."

I shivered and clutched my arms. "Wonderful trips our club goes on," I said.

"First snow?" he said. "District 4's warm and all, if I remember."

"Snowing in District 8 too, but one was enough for me," I said."

"Well," he said, his grin flattening out. "Plenty more snow of a different kind where this Tour's gonna end up. But hey, I'm not gonna spoil the mood. If there's any mood left to spoil, that is. Mags'll want you goin', so let's go."

Frosty firs and aching branches towered above us as our car made its way down a narrow gravel lane towards the district. I'd expected District 7 to be some sort of village locked away in the forest. When the car entered a clearing and the flurries began to pick up, however, I saw the district was anything but tucked between the trees.

"Thousands of lakes up here," Blight said as I stared out the window. "Might as well put them to good use, huh?"

A long wooden causeway stretched a hundred meters away from the snow-covered shore of a giant lake. Ice floated about in the wind-whipped water. Despite the heavy snowfall, I could make out dozens of white-capped oaken roofs off in the center of the lake. What looked like bridges ran from building to building and connected tightly-packed homes. The sight of the village built upon the lake baffled me. We didn't build on the water in District 4, despite having so much ocean to use. Why do so in District 7?

Blight answered my question before I could ask it. "Forest is only for lumber work," he said, scratching his chin and resting one hand behind his head. "But we got a lot of people, and a lot of water. This ain't the only town, but it's the biggest."

"Big enough for a speech," Cicero said from the front seat.

Right then, the feelings brewing in my gut pushed out the awe of seeing District 7. Blight had known Holly, mentored her, looked for sponsorships for her. I doubt he had forgotten the girl so quickly, yet he chatted me up as if I wasn't her killer. District 7 hadn't won much in years, but had losing so many kids so desensitized him that the lines between killed and killer had blurred that much?

I felt uneasy sitting next to him all of the sudden. "Look," I said, folding my hands and staring down at the bottom of the car. "About the speech…I dunno if I should –"

"Just say whatever you want to," Blight said before I could finish. "Everyone's in the Games for themselves, and the people worth talking to get that."

"You can't please everyone, Finnick," Mags said, leaning forward to meet my gaze. "Just be yourself."

That wasn't the advice I was looking for, but she had a point. I could please everyone – but I could satisfy myself. I didn't have to read some pre-prepared speech. Saying something to help me get over the memories and guilt clawing at my mind would be enough to make this trip a success.

Of course, that was easier said than done.

The causeway creaked under the car as we drove into District 7. Dirt covered whatever the snow didn't in this cramped, gloomy town. The brackish water below the wooden planks of the bridges and platforms melted into the dark wood of the buildings. Ice clung to the network of catwalks that snaked over the lake's surface. I thanked my stylist, Eudora, in my mind for giving me the thick green coat that bundled around my shoulders. It was cold here, and I was eager to get away from the snow and shadows as soon as I could.

A pair of wide-shouldered Peacekeepers ushered Mags, Cicero, and I into the most depressing town hall I could have imagined. No building on this lake reached over two stories, and the glass lanterns swinging from side to side outside of the hall's rear wall couldn't add any grandeur to the place. From the outside, I couldn't make out a single window. Snow crumbled off of the dark, pointed roof into the water, splashing one of the Peacekeepers and tossing ice onto the crossing we walked on. The wooden boards of the building were covered in grime and mud. The smell of great pines and oaks still carried in the air, but there was no nature to liven up the somber setting.

"Too cold to take care of the place?" Mags grumbled. She pushed me along with a tap to my shoulder, and I imagined she wasn't enjoying the surroundings much, either.

The familiar rush began. I hurried through the town hall, a flash of wooden walls, green carpet, and lonely pastel paintings. I wouldn't remember any of this. After all, the show really began when the Peacekeepers opened the two old oaken doors to the front of the town hall and I stepped out before District 7.

Had I expected something different? I sure hadn't seen the sea of tired gray eyes and slouched shoulders stretching out before me when I stepped out of the town hall, Mags and Cicero at my back. Only the smell of the pines and the sloshing of the icy water made this place any different from the exhaustion I'd seen in District 8 or the weariness that had faced me in District 12.

This place wasn't a home. These outlying districts seemed little more than prisons to my eyes. Happiness, joy – these things had left these lands a long time ago. Right there and then, a little slice of the Capitol's grandeur and power slipped away in my eyes.

I gave a half-hearted wave to the crowd. I'd summoned up confidence and even bravado in my last speeches, but between the reality of District 7 and the unrelenting snow, all I had was a sinking feeling of emptiness in my guts today.

"Hey," I said after the old, graying mayor handed me the microphone to begin. Not my best introduction of all time. "It's cold out, so I'll make it quick for us here."

Damn. That was a stupid line.

"It's an honor to be up here in District 7," I went on, falling back into the scripted speech routine. "Representing District 4 as a victor is, uh…"

I paused as a snowflake landed up my nose. Reading off of a piece of paper I'd remembered back on the train felt idiotic. I was wasting my time if I didn't at least mention Holly once – to do _something_ to get my lone murder of the arena off of my conscience.

"District 7's a place I learned a lot about in the arena," I said. "One of your own taught me a lot about your heart and spirit in that time. When Holly Mayfield joined with me and those I'd allied with in the Games, I didn't think much of her at first. But little by little, she grew on me. I know I'm not much for saying it when I'm standing here and she's not, but there couldn't have been a better fighter in the arena than her. I'm sure that –"

My voice cut off in my throat the moment I looked down to her family, roped off in a pen just before the stage I stood upon. In a single moment, a flashback leaped up before my eyes.

Ares snored loudly next to our fire. The light from the flames danced off of the corrugated steel of the Cornucopia. We'd scavenged the wood from crates inside of the great horn, and given how cold the wasteland was during the night, I was glad Venus had suggested this idea. I pulled my jacket tighter around my shoulders, but the fire's warmth added the right spark to brighten up this lonely night.

Well, not too lonely.

Holly's breaths whispered like a soft, slow metronome in the quiet darkness. She wriggled on my chest, adjusting to make herself more comfortable as the minutes and hours of our watch ticked on. Something about the way the fire reflected off of her brown hair made me stare. Three days in and I'd yet to see why Ares had invited her to our group, but I was thankful for the company during the long night. Anyone with a pulse at this hour beat a vigil of solitude.

"It's weird," Holly said all of the sudden, her eyes fixed on the flames. "We don't use wood for our fires back home."

I snorted. "What d'you use? Dead fish? Sugar cubes?"

"I don't think those burn."

"Well, I haven't tried. Doesn't mean nobody does."

"Stuff the Capitol issues everyone," Holly said. "Kinda like charcoal, but bricks of it. I just don't think they want anyone touching wood much, unless we're cutting it or making something out of it."

What an idiotic policy, I thought. We used plenty of things from the sea for our day-to-day lives. Maybe we sent plenty of fish, seafood, and oceanic products to the Capitol in District 4, but that didn't stop us from making the most of the water's bounty. "Why cut lumber if you don't use it?" I murmured, leaning back at staring at the night sky. "That just sounds like a ridiculous waste of time."

"I don't make the rules," Holly said. She shifted on my chest as I leaned back, scooting her legs closer to the fire. "When I was younger, I lit a loose piece of wood from a building on fire for fun. Altair nearly killed me over that. He kept yelling at me later on that we couldn't do that."

"What a rebel you are," I said, concealing a smile. "You're gonna blow up this whole arena next. I need to be careful."

"Yeah, Finnick. I'll get you."

"Mm. Altair, that's still a stupid name, no matter how many times you say it. Why'd your parents name your younger brother that anyway?"

"He's not my younger brother. He's older by two years. Seventeen."

"Shit, point stands."

"Why're you named Finnick?"

"I dunno, some family history crap. You're avoiding my question. You never ask your parents, 'Hey, I'm named after a tree, which makes sense, but my brother's named after some dumb star?' I mean, just saying."

Holly looked away for a moment before whispering, "No."

"Yeah? What, no curiosity?"

"I didn't know them long enough to ask."

"What?"

Looking back now, I should've figured out what she was saying. But I was dumb and stuck in the Hunger Games, so no question seemed off-limits. My mistake.

Holly pulled herself off of my chest and sat up, folding her hands in her lap. She looked off into the fire, and when I pushed myself off of my arm, I saw a wet streak mar her cheek.

"They're dead," she said. "I don't know my parents. Altair never told me about them, and neither would anyone else."

I froze. _Whoops_. "I, uh..."

"You didn't know," she said. "And don't say you're sorry. Everyone says that, and they don't mean it. There's plenty of orphans in District 7. One in the arena isn't that crazy."

"No, that's bullshit," I said, looking to make up for my blunder. "Anyone would be sorry."

"Why?" she said. Holly refused to look my way. "Who cares, right? I might as well tell someone before we all die."

"You're not gonna die. Stop talking like that."

"You're lying."

Obviously. "Look, we all have a shot here. It's the Games, you never know what happens."

"And you want to go home just as much as I do," she said. "Might as well just listen to my secrets and do what you want with 'em, huh? I'm only here 'cuz snores-a-lot there asked me to join, and I'd be stupid to tell him no. I don't even know why I'm telling you things, Finnick."

I didn't have an answer for that. We sat in silence, the thought of Holly's lifelong feelings of loneliness and abandonment snaking through my head. I didn't care about her. She was just another tribute. A competitor. Right?

Right?

The snow picked up back in District 7, and I looked down at gray-eyed Altair. He didn't meet my gaze. The tall, skinny boy stood tall in all of his loneliness in the square reserved for family, left alone in life by two parents who hadn't lived to see their children grow – and rendered into isolation by a kid from District 4 who claimed to empathize with a place he didn't understand.

This Victory Tour was not going well at all.


	4. Desire

"Finnick. Finnick? Are you okay?"

Mags's words cut through the fog of high-pitched laughter, violet ceiling lights, and intoxicating aromas. A bead of sweat welled up in my underarm and faded away into my sea green dinner jacket. Whether I was sweating from the crowd at this Capitol feast in my name, the attention heaped on me as Panem's latest victor, or from the overwhelming array of sights, sounds, smells, and tastes circling me like a sea of savory sharks, was a mystery.

I wiped at my underarm and looked away from Mags. Under a blue light off in the corner of this great hall, two drunken revelers, their fancy veneers long since faded, belted out jumbled lyrics to an unholy mix of a drinking song and the national anthem.

"A bit much?" Mags said. She touched my arm and leaned towards me. "We'll be back home in a day."

I shrugged and said with a smirk, "I could get used to the food. And the sights."

Mags eyed a young blond-haired woman passing by the nearest food-laden table, her green silky dress's shoulder straps dangling from the edges of her shoulders. "Try to keep a little taste," she said.

I yawned and sat down in the nearest chair I could find. In truth, I was happy that the festival – feast, party, orgy, whatever this banquet in the Presidential Mansion's great marble-floored hall could be called – had come after all of the speeches and interviews here in the Capitol. The alcohol helped. I wouldn't be able to get through anything with Caesar Flickerman after all this. Shaking hands was the most my buzzing head would manage. Heading back to District 4 with this Victory Tour behind me would be a relief, although I hadn't lied to Mags. Eating whatever came off of a dirty fisherman's trawler had lost some of its luster after sampling a fraction of the hundreds of delicacies scattered around the food tables in here.

"Ah! I was wondering where you'd gotten to! Are we boring you that much?"

The booming, baritone voice caught me off guard. I started at the words, scooting up from my slouch and leaning forward. A portly man trotted out of the crowd, adjusted his crimson suit, and smiled at me. I knew him. All of Panem did.

"Um, hm," I said, fumbling for a greeting while stumbling out of my chair. "Head Gamesmaker. Mr. Figg. Hi."

Cameras had a way of making Oedipus Figg looking much more regal than the man who pumped my hand and sat down across the table from me. The Head Gamesmaker's green highlights in his graying hair clashed with the blue jagged lines he'd tattooed down his neck. Oedipus's myriad colors underneath the soft lighting of our corner of the hall looked as if an artist's palette had exploded on his side of the table.

Oedipus may have ran the Hunger Games, but the man needed a new stylist of his own as fast as he could hire one.

"End of the Tour and we're only meeting face to face now!" Oedipus said, tilting his gold-rimmed wine goblet back and swigging the contents of the cup. "Caesar keeps me busy."

I leaned back and folded my arms over my chest. "Part of the job, yeah?"

Oedipus laughed. "I manage. Where'd your mentor go? Miss Mags?"

"Probably telling every girl here to stay away from me."

"Ah, she looks out for her own," he said. "Great conversationalist, too. Sometimes it's good just to talk, you know? Gets you away from the stress."

My eyelids sagged. "Mm-hm."

"Mags has even made a few suggestions to the Games," Oedipus went on, oblivious to me. "You know, we used not to have the sponsorships that helped you so much. She stepped in, advised me that it'd help for – ah, the word…competitive balance, that was it! – and suddenly, we had more than the favorites winning every year. Great mind for strategy."

I had a feeling Mags hadn't suggested sponsoring kids just for the "strategy" of it all, but to try and help the kids who were routinely stomped make it out every now and then. I also figured that Oedipus wouldn't figure that one out.

The Head Gamesmaker as about to launch into another memory when a polite, formal name called out for him from the crowd.

"Seneca!" Oedipus said, his face twitching and his mouth curling down into a frown. "Didn't see you there!"

"You were looking at him, so obviously," our visitor said.

Seneca Crane, as the man who introduced himself as Oedipus's top associate Gamesmaker was named, looked everything that his boss wasn't. His black, red-trimmed sport coat fit to the finest precision along his bony shoulders and thin waist. The man didn't sport any body art, but his elaborate beard that curled around his jawline with spikes and swirls only made him look more authoritative. He was enough to jar me from my drowsiness, at least.

"You met Finnick here, Seneca?" Oedipus said, shaking his suit and running his hand over his arm. "I was, uh, just saying –"

Seneca cut him off. "You're wanted, Finnick," he said, nodding to me and flicking his eyes towards the door. "An invitation."

"Anyone interesting inviting me?" I said.

Seneca's eyebrow twitched. "More than this crowd. Just him, Oedipus."

The Head Gamesmaker looked flustered by his subordinate's curt words. Oedipus shrugged, stood up, and slinked away back into the crowd. Seneca rolled his eyes and grabbed my shoulder.

"Not really an invitation," he said. "Let's go."

I didn't say a word. From Seneca's grim expression and his stiff walk, I figured someone important had sent him to fetch me. I didn't have any room to argue.

"Loves to hear himself talk, that man," Seneca said as he led me out a side door of the hall and into a scarlet-walled hallway lined with bronze-framed pictures.

"Oedipus?"

"Yes. Try to resist his advances when you're here in the city." Upon seeing my horrified expression, Seneca added, "Not those kinds of advances."

I certainly hoped so. If Oedipus wanted the other kind, I had a feeling I'd be powerless to do much about it. He was Head Gamesmaker. Finnick Odair was just a name by comparison in a city full of names and victors.

"So who's so eager to see me?" I said as we tromped up a polished wooden staircase.

"President Snow," Seneca said without as much as blinking.

"What?"

"President Snow."

I'd heard that much. It was the _why _that piqued my interest – and my nerves. The President? Maybe he met every victor during each year's Tour. That was probably it. Some sort of one-on-one talk, maybe, whether explaining how to act in the Capitol or what he expected. I'd find out soon, I supposed.

Seneca led me before a pair of mahogany doors, each with the Capitol's gold-inlaid eagle logo glaring out at us. My escort shooed away a Peacekeeper standing at the door, knocked once – twice – and ushered me inside.

A fire crackled in a cobblestone hearth at the far end of the room. Shiny, dark wood paneling lined the walls as light from the fireplace danced on the polished sheen. Shadows raced up and down four red leather chairs arranged around a low-standing stone table. The air smelled old and refined in here, as if someone had opened up a vault that had been sealed for years.

White hair rustled atop the one chair that faced away from Seneca and me. I had an inkling of whose hair that was.

"Seneca," a soft voice echoed from seemingly every corner of the room at once. "Let us have a moment. Alone."

He paused. "We'll meet in the gardens, you and I. Discuss things over wine."

Seneca bowed his head and backed out of the room as soon as he'd entered. The great doors shut behind me, leaving me alone to face the high backing of the chair and the dancing flames.

"I'd have thought you'd have some flashy catchphrase to say by now," the voice said.

I stepped back. It wasn't the first time on this Tour that I didn't know how to react, but picking the right words in front of _President Snow_ was a monumental task.

"I'm taking suggestions," I said.

The voice – Snow – didn't so much as chuckle. "Sit. Maybe we'll work on one together."

I didn't like the sound of that. I edged towards the nearest chair and hurried to take a seat. For the leader of Panem, Coriolanus Snow himself looked old in the light of the fire. Dark crevasses criss-crossed his face like canyons amidst a pale desert. His lips stood out as scarlet blemishes on that colorless face of his. I breathed in as I settled into my seat, and my nose filled with an odd smell…an unfamiliar smell.

Snow smelled like a rose.

He crossed one leg over his knee and stared off into the fire as if gazing at the horizon. "I like to look at the big picture," Snow said, his voice slow and steady. "So I like to think of the Hunger Games as more than just the idle entertainment everyone wants. It's a microcosm of life. We've all got obstacles. We all have outcomes, negative ones, positive ones. I've got a game of my own on my hands. Even me, even me – President Snow, the man Caesar Flickerman loves to quote five times a day – even I have problems to sort out."

"Something separates me from an insecure man, though, Finnick," Snow went on, never once looking up at me. "I'm not afraid to ask for help. Sometimes a challenge is more than one man. Sometimes winning over everything that is the Capitol – the mob, the chaos disguised as fun, whatever you want to call it, we all have our words – takes more than one mind and one body."

Finally, Snow flicked his eyes towards me. "What'd you think of Seneca?"

I shrugged. I didn't think he wanted to hear that I found the man dull. "Seemed like a guy who knows his stuff."

"Knows his stuff," Snow said. He laughed once, but few men could call that short, quiet bark a laugh in any other situation. "He does…know his stuff. Maybe I'll put him in charge of the Games one day. I like him. I like men who have purpose, really. Ones who have, well, let's call it use. Use is purpose by another name."

"Sounds a little manipulative," I said.

Gah, that was stupid! I kicked myself in the head mentally, but Snow didn't get angry. In fact, he smiled.

"That's right," Snow said. "It's a game. Just like the Hunger Games, isn't it? We play each other, try to find a winner. Put the Capitol's most important people in a confined space and you have the arena by another name and a different visage. A smart person succeeds. A blind one fails. But one with eyes and one with a certain allure, well, that's a powerful combination."

Snow looked me up and down and turned back towards the fire. "This is normally the time I start to threaten tributes. I tell them I want something or I'll hurt the ones they love. But you're too smart for me to threaten with harsh words and a fierce gaze. I watched you closely in your games. I saw your allure, I saw your ability to manipulate those around you. Allies, you called them, but your words didn't match the gears I saw turning in your head. You have a knack for success and a talent for drawing in inflated egos and vulnerable souls."

I stayed quiet. Snow had a gift for colorful talk that went around in circles, but the calm monotone of his voice told me that whatever he was planning wasn't good.

"I'm not going to threaten you. You can imagine how far my reach can go," Snow said, folding his hands and staring off into the fire. "But I will tell you this. This city, these people…they love what they see. You know it. Every time you've given a speech here over the last two days or passed a crowd, you hear the chants. The admiration. The desire for you. It's a weakness of many people, rich people, powerful people, and one I can't let slip away. One man's weakness is another man's opportunity."

"You're going to fulfill that desire, Finnick. When the Games come around again, you're going to give a few of the Capitol's highest citizens what they want. Maybe for a night, maybe a day, maybe two. You'll do it, and you'll give me what I want. And if you do so without so much as a complaint, if you do so loyally…well, I'll give you more than all but a few victors can even touch."

A knot curled in my stomach. _Desire_. I knew exactly what that meant, and I knew what Snow was having me do. I knew what people in the Capitol wanted. I knew these last two days here in the Capitol, every time I'd heard a woman scream my name with her hands in the air, or seen an aging man grin with a glint of passion in his eyes. I knew.

But what Snow had offered in return I did not know.

The crackle of the fire, the smell of roses, and the walls of dark wood blended together and pushed in on me from all sides. My throat clenched. That was that.

"That's all for now," Snow said, raising his hand in the air and flicking his index finger towards the door. "We'll get down to work in six months, Finnick."

I stumbled away from the room, waved off the Peacekeeper from leading me back to the hall, and walked in a trance towards the stairs. Mags. I had to talk to Mags. I didn't want to talk to _anyone_ about this…this assignment…but she'd understand. She could help. Wouldn't she? Mags was still my mentor, and as a victor herself, she had to have had those same threats and assignments. Maybe it was just a scare tactic to keep me from saying anything stupid. Maybe this would all resolve itself before the next Games started up.

The air thickened into jelly as I stepped down the stairs one at a time, settling on each stair before I descended to the next one. Laughter, chatter, and lively music from the party down below mixed together into a hellish din to my ears. I nearly fell down the last flight of stairs as I plodded back towards the party. The pictures along the scarlet-walled hall mocked me from either side. The men and women frozen in time in the bronze frames leered down. Maybe they were trapped just as much as I, but at least they knew their fates – to be stuck in a frame forever. I was facing a future of uncertainties where every outcome reeked.

I shoved open the doors to the party hall, but I didn't take more than two steps before an arm caught me.

"Finnick Odair?" a light, airy voice whispered in my ear. "Got you alone at last."

I wheeled and pressed my back to the nearest wall. The blonde girl in the green dress I'd seen earlier stood no more than five inches from my face, her gray eyes lost in a sea of sparkles that glistened on her face.

"I don't –" I began.

She held a hand to my shoulder and leaned in. "A drunk old Gamesmaker told me you had an invitation from Snow."

I froze. _No. Not that quickly. He said six months, not six minutes._

"Nah, I was getting some air," I said, my voice breaking at the end.

"Some of the air from his study?" she said. "My father's a greedy old bastard, Finnick. He paid a small fortune to get last year's victor into his bad, a pretty girl named Cashmere. I got a brain, huh? I figured it out."

She ran a hand over my shoulders, lowered her head, and smiled. "And I can't blame anyone for wanting a little of this, too."

"No, no, this –"

"Relax, I'm not that greedy. It's a party. You shouldn't be so uptight."

I swallowed hard. Despite this girl's shiny dress and her thick makeup, she didn't look like she could be much older than me at all. At the same time, the way she talked made her sound as if she already had far more experience in the Capitol than I could hope to gain.

"I'm not gonna buy you like an avox," the girl said, leaning back and tilting her head up. Her eyes closed into slits. "But Snow's not the only one who wants to talk to you. I'm only here tonight because someone thinks you're interesting. You're not the first victor that everyone loves."

"Look, I don't even know who you are. I just want to get back on my train and go home. That's it."

The girl leaned closer again and said, "There's a big victor who's here every year. District 2. He's Brutus. When you're back and you meet the other victors before the arena and all gets going, ask him sometime what he thinks of Caesar Flickerman's vests. Tell him you think Caesar could use a little variety in his wardrobe. You might learn a secret or two."

She placed her hand on my hip for a moment and before walking away said, "Although I might want to learn a few of your secrets. I'm Antigone. Maybe I got a secret for you, too."


End file.
